


Hope is the Thing with Feathers

by lethallen



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethallen/pseuds/lethallen
Summary: All of Garrus' hope rides on Shepard. And she never lets him down.





	Hope is the Thing with Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, this is canon-divergent in some places, so I hope that doesn't bother you too much! This is only my second attempt at Shakarian, so I hope it isn't too terrible. Obviously, the poem is "Hope" is the Thing with Feathers by Emily Dickinson.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers -  
That perches in the soul -  
And sings the tune without the words -  
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -  
And sore must be the storm -  
That could abash the little Bird  
That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -  
And on the strangest Sea -  
Yet - never - in Extremity,  
It asked a crumb - of me.

Emily Dickinson

* * *

 

Garrus had always had a complicated relationship with hope. Though no one had ever accused him of being an optimist, he’d been an idealist back in the old days, when he was working at C-Sec. His hope for a better future had pushed him to bend the rules, because maybe the rules were the only thing standing between them and the job getting done. Maybe if he shoved past all the bureaucratic bullshit and regulations, he’d be able to actually _fix_  everything. He didn’t see crime and justice as the complicated things they were. He had been wrong.

That line of reasoning had continued on even after he and the rest of the original Normandy crew defeated Saren, even after Shepard’s death, when he moved on to Omega. He pushed his squad so hard, _too_ hard, because he’d been sure that he could rid Omega of crime completely. Looking back, it was an incredibly foolish notion. But there was that damn optimism, that hope, rearing its ugly head again. How could it have been anything other than optimistic to believe something like that? 

But after his team had been obliterated, after Sidonis’ betrayal and his mother’s illness, that glimmer dulled and dulled into nothing. Garrus Vakarian had become the realist he’d always pretended to be, with bouts of aggressive pessimism.

Then she came back.

Garrus realized, as soon as he saw her in his scope, that Shepard was a safe place to put his hopes. Who came back from the dead? Who could ever do the things that Shepard did? No one. So maybe he could be an optimist. But for her. Only for her.

And his hope had never been misplaced. Every time he got an inkling of fear that they were hitting a wall, Shepard found a way to vault it or destroy it altogether. First death, then the suicide mission they’d all escaped alive. She was a shining beacon in a galaxy where no one seemed to get what they deserved, good or bad.

And them… Suddenly, they were more than friends. Garrus had never thought he’d hope for _that_ , but Spirits, after the first time she propositioned him, he could hardly think of anything else. Shepard quickly became the love of his life, and then his hopes for a, as humans called it, white-picket-fence future were pinned on her, too. But it also allowed him to see her more clearly. She was just one woman, with fears and insecurities and a hell of a lot of guilt. As he helped her through doom-and-gloom thoughts of her own, he began to wonder if maybe he was good for her, too. Maybe he was giving her hope to push forward.

Or maybe he was projecting. It didn’t matter. Soon enough, they were separated again, and then the Reaper War came.

His morale was at an all-time low, but Shepard continued to astound. Curing the genophage, krogan-turian alliance, a geth-quarian alliance… Suddenly the things that everyone said were impossible weren’t, and it was only because of Shepard. Once again, she gave him something to believe in. But her own fears were worse than ever, and all he could do was try to be for her what she was for him. He’d never measure up, but if he could get her to smile, that would be enough.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to pin his hopes on her, especially considering everyone else was doing the same. It definitely wasn’t healthy. He had, of course, found this out the hard way; after the Catalyst had worked and killed all the Reapers, she had gone missing. (Most people said that she’d died. “Who could escape death twice?” they asked. In another display of pesky hope, Garrus refused to entertain the idea.)

He was still on Earth, helping the humans rebuild and assisting the wounded as much as he could. Part of him knew he should have been on Palaven, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave on the off chance he got news. Either way, he wasn’t much use in the week and a half since the Reapers had been defeated. He had trouble eating and sleeping these days, so he was mostly surviving on the hope that Shepard was out there somewhere. _Somewhere_.

It was a tricky thing. His sanity was on thin ice already, and hope was the sick thrill of holding a candle to it to watch it thaw faster. But he didn’t see very many good alternatives lined up for him. All he could do was survive on the hope that she was still alive until she came back or he found a new source. If he found a new source. But there was no one like Shepard.

He drank a lot.

* * *

It was just past midnight when his omni-tool began to beep aggressively. Garrus blinked his tired eyes and looked to see who the call was from. When he did, his heart seized a little. Hackett. The man had spoken to him on and off to make sure that everything was alright, but they hadn't seen each other since the war ended. Hackett was busier than ever. Which was part of the reason why Garrus doubted he’d be making this call, so late at night, if it wasn’t important.

Without further delay, he answered the call.

“Vakarian? You there?” The quality was spotty at best. They were still trying to patch things up. But still, it was enough for Garrus to understand, and that was all he needed.

“Yes, sir, I’m here.” He hoped his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he thought it did. “Is there something you need? 

“We found her, Garrus,” Hackett replied, and there was no pause before his words. Wouldn’t there be a pause if it was bad news? Or was Hackett trying to kill him quickly, painlessly? Either way, Garrus felt his whole body seize. He didn’t reply, couldn’t find the words. “Garrus, do you read me? I said we found her. She was in a hospital outside London, they’d found her under some rubble and took her over right after the war ended. They didn’t ID her right away, but a soldier there recognized her and got in contact.”

Garrus took a deep breath and tried, in the words of Joker, to get his shit together. “I, yes. Yes, I read you, Admiral. Is she… What’s her condition?” He tried to sound as clinical as possible. It wasn’t particularly convincing. _They had to ID her_ , he thought, going cold with dread. _That can’t be good._

“I won’t lie, she suffered a lot of damage, but she’s stable. A lot of broken bones, nerve damage, and her cybernetics are glitching, but she didn’t seem to be too effected by the Crucible.  It’s going to take a lot of time, but they’re fairly confident she’ll make it.” 

Garrus let out a long breath, not too concerned with making Hackett wait. It was about thirty seconds before he said anything. “Send me the navpoint. I’m on my way.”

* * *

The hospital was far enough away from London that Garrus understood how Shepard had ended up there; it was still standing, unlike nearly all the buildings in the city. The Reapers had focused much of their attack on places with the densest population; rural areas, though they'd had their fair share of damage, were less effected in the end.

All Garrus had to do was show up, and they immediately directed him to Shepard. To say she was banged up would be an understatement. Bruises covered her from head to toe, and he could see the long lacerations that were being held together to heal by medigel. How could she still look this bad when she’d been here so long? Her injuries must have been even worse than Hackett had said.

Regardless, it was a relief to see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she took. Taking a seat by her bed, he was tempted to reach out and hold her hand, but she looked so fragile that he resisted. Instead, he slumped back, finally able to breathe for the first time since the war ended. Maybe his hope wasn’t so misplaced, after all.

* * *

It was three days later when she woke up and, ironically, Garrus was asleep. At least, he was until he felt a cool, familiar hand covering his own. His eyes snapped open and blue met green and _god fucking damn it_ , she did it again. What a woman. What a  _goddess_. Who could say they'd come back from the dead twice?

“Shepard,” he breathed, doing his best not to break into heaving sobs. But he couldn’t stop the shaking. “Spirits, it’s good to see you alive.” 

She smiled as best she could with her face so bruised. Her eyes looked a little unfocused, but he guessed it was from the medicine. “Went to the bar. You weren’t there. Never been so happy to be stood up,” she told him, letting out a cough and wincing at the effort. Garrus let out a sound that was a little too desperate to be laughter, free hand flitting desperately over her as if he could do anything to help. “Still, I had to come back. Didn’t want you trying for human-turian babies with anyone else.”

Another almost-laugh. Garrus leaned over to press his mouth plates to her hand, too scared to lift it. “There is no one else, honey.”

“Honey?” She would have been raising an eyebrow, had she been able to. Garrus could hear it in her voice. “You only call me that when you’re drunk.” 

“Special occasion.”

“Lucky me.” She coughed again, and Garrus quickly hit the button next to her bed to call a doctor. One, a woman who had probably seen to Shepard the most, seemed to be there in an instant. Her wife had been on Elysium all those years ago, she’d said. Shepard had saved her. Amazing, how Shepard seemed to touch the lives of everyone. And she seemed to have the best damn luck in all the galaxy.

“Commander, I’m so glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

Even as the doctor went on with her series of tests and questions, Shepard didn’t let go of Garrus’ hand, and he was relieved. They’d have to let go eventually, but for now, he’d hold on as long as he could.

Eventually, the doctor left, and Shepard looked exhausted. 

“Go to sleep, Shepard,” Garrus ordered gently, mandibles twitching in a tired smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shepard, though tired and beaten and bruised, looked straight at him with a surprisingly steady expression. “Neither am I.”

And again, there she was, the love of his life, proving, in three simple words, why no one could have ever done what she had. Not for him, not for anybody. No, she wasn’t going anywhere.

He quieted, kissing her hand again and watching her drift to sleep. She was just slipping away when he murmured, “You never have.”

 


End file.
